Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince
by Bernard and Spinach
Summary: Harry and friends (and enemies) travel back to a land before Hogwarts; Hermione's little sister has huge adventures; Voldemort goes on the internet and discovers something strange; and most importantly, the pigeons - never underestimate the pidgeons
1. Absquatulate

Disclaimer: The characters aren't ours. The setting isn't ours. Even the title isn't ours. We claim the crapness as our own, though.

**Absquatulate:**

Harry Potter glanced at his watch. Readers across the world relax, reassured by the tradition of it all and the knowledge of what was coming next. Either that or they shuddered at what a cliché said opening had become. The author does not need to confirm either the time of date as it is blatantly obvious to anyone well versed in Harry Potter lore, but will anyway.

"9:00?" Harry muttered to himself, confused. That wasn't right. He sneaked out of bed in order to find another chronometer of some sort. Several minutes later, Harry had fulfilled his quest – the search for the chronometer – finding another watch strapped to the pudgy arm of his cousin. Harry scanned the face of the watch, a relieved expression appearing on his face.

"Midnight," he breathed, triumphantly. That was more like it. Now there was just the case of the misinformed watch to crack. Again, this only took a few minutes. Harry decided he quite liked quests and cases – they were so painless compared with his normal adventures that always seemed to end in a near fatal experience.

He solved the case through logical deduction, which was a relatively difficult task for him; Harry never had had much faith in logic – it contradicted his entire life. He decided that he was much better suited to quests. His quest had simply involved him creeping around in the dark, humming his own personal theme tune and occasionally bumping into furniture.

The author would like to note that his own personal theme tune is not the one everyone knows from the movies as that is Hedwig's theme because, as we all know, the books (and movies) are all called _Hedwig and the Something or Other_. With this in mind, Hedwig suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

"So, Hedwig, what do you think? Am I right?" This is not as strange a thing to ask as it may appear, because there are several things about Harry that JK has neglected to tell her readers over the past five books. The current author, however, is not so sneaky and deceitful and will reveal all.

Harry, as well as being a parseltongue, can speak the languages of all the animals. In addition to this, he has a psychic connection with his owl; is the heir of not one, not two, but all four founders of the school; can do wandless magic; has had several love children with Ginny; is horribly abused by the Dursleys; is Dumbledore's nephew; is secretly gay and having a forbidden relationship with Draco that is strangely reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet; has a twin sister who is Voldemort's number two, but who will switch sides when she is reunited with Harry; and is a self-harmer who has attempted suicide on several occasions, only to be rescued from himself by his one true love, insert overly complex name of glamorous American exchange student here.

The author would like to point out that the above paragraph is not a sign of over-used clichés; bad plot devices; out of character behaviour; a complete lack of originality; badly written and predictable "dramatic encounters" later on in the fic; and probable author insertion as Harry's romantic interest/relation of some kind/both (hey, it's not me who thought of the term 'twincest'). The author would like to confirm that it is, in fact, all true.

Or at least Harry thinks it is.

But, then again, he believes there are tribes of little goblins in his head, all doing happy jigs out of sheer joy that he remains alive.

The author would now like to point out how hard she is laughing at how delusional Harry is. I mean, who would be happy that he was still alive? It is approximately a 7.6 on Moh's scale of laughter.

The author would finally like to reassure the reader that these specific Harry delusions are unlikely to be mentioned again, so you don't need to worry.

Now…back to the plot…I'm sure there was one around here somewhere… Ah yes, the case of the misinformed watch.

"So the reason my watch tells the wrong time is because it broke two years ago when I wore it while going in the lake for the second task," Harry said triumphantly. Harry was still wearing it because that's the kind of person he is – dumb.

"Is that right, Hedwig?" Harry asked his owl, still labouring under the belief he could speak owl.

"Hey!" an angry reader interjected. "I thought you said you weren't going to mention any of those delusions any more!" The reader was very angry, having already had to read through that particular tangent once before. The author has no defence… She should really apologise…

Steeples fingers MWAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH! I lied and there is nothing you mortals can do about it. Goblins in head do little happy jig at the lovely maliciousness of it all.

I went to see White Noise the other day and that movie would have been made for me if one of the evil spirit dudes had steepled his fingers… Is that too much to ask?

Hmm…how did I manage to loose the plot so soon after I had resolved to find it again? Not to self: must have more self control and not insert random stuff in this story such as notes to myself…damn.

Anyway, back to the story, because this is definitely a proper story rather than an outlet for all the stress induced ramblings of teenage minds...

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Suddenly, Random Fangirl, aka Soyamaid, aka person who got the coveted prize of a cameo in this fic after winning a competition in our last fic, appeared.

"Happy birthday, Harry Potter!" she yelled, before disappearing again. Now can you see why a cameo appearance is so coveted?

"That was random," Harry muttered to himself. "But at least it gave some hint of sanity in that this fic starts on my birthday…"

Then Dudley woke up. "Aaaargh!" he yelled. I mean, could you honestly say that you wouldn't do the same if you woke up at midnight only to find Harry Potter by your bed? No, I thought not.

"Daddy!" Dudley screamed. "He's going to turn me into a frog or some such!" Vernon Dursley strode into his son's room.

"Boy!" he shouted, spittle shooting out of his mouth. "Is this true?"

Harry didn't have time to deny this (although he wouldn't deny it even if given plenty of time as Dudley's accusation had been quite correct) before Vernon swung at his head with a crowbar.

As he fell, all Harry could do was lament his misfortune of living with his violent, abusive uncle and dream of the happy days he spent with Ginny and their seven love children. Author smirks at reader, who is now contemplating throwing a boot at the computer screen

By the time Harry awoke, he was on the Hogwart's Express. "There has got to be a better way to change scenes," he said, ruefully. But the author quite likes this way, so sucks to be him.

"Harry?" a low seductive voice asked. "Are you awake?" Harry turned towards the source of the voice.

"Hermione?" he asked, half amazed, half disgusted at the degradation the author had imposed on the girl in front of him. If it was Hermione, she had filled out in all the right places (nudge, nudge, wink, wink, know what I mean?)

I actually saw that phrase used in a fic that wasn't a parody and was appalled.

APALLED!

"No, I'm not Hermione," the girl said, demurely. How she managed to pull demure off while only wearing a bra and a thong, we shall never know. "I'm Katriana Elyssabeth Potter Granger Malfoy Dumbledore Weasley Riddle Longbottom."

"They fit all of that on your birth certificate?" Harry asked amazed. Then he realised what she had just said. "Longbottom? But Neville's not particularly glamorous."

"Yeah, but I'm Neville's long lost twin sister, whose been living in America for the past sixteen years. The prophecy is really about me." She shook he head at him. "I'm sorry Harry – that's just the way it is. There's nothing special about you."

Harry would never be able to fully describe how beautiful the world was at that particular moment. The prophesy wasn't about him? No more spending the entire year wondering what Voldemort's plan was! No more almost getting killed by Voldemort! No more gawking at him in the middle of the corridor just because of some stupid scar! No more responsibility! He could have kissed Katriana Thingamabob Whatsit if it wasn't for her somehow being related to him and the rest of the wizarding community.

Just then, Hermione walked into the compartment, thankfully unchanged from when Harry had last seen her.

"Oh," she said, raising an eyebrow at the scantily-clad girl already in there, who had apparently just walked out of a Victoria's Secret catalogue. "Sorry Harry," she said, turning her gaze towards him. "Didn't realise we were interrupting anything."

"You weren't," Harry said, still in a happy daze. "We were just talking."

Hermione smirked. "Whatever."

Harry was about to object, but was beaten to it. "You're just jealous of me, you spiteful, vindictive cow!" Katriana Elyssabeth Lots of Last Names screeched, before marching out of the compartment.

"Ok," Hermione said slowly, hoping normality would resume soon. "I say we push her off the train."

"We can't," Harry said, simply. "She's the prophesised one, and if she dies, then I have to go back to killing Voldemort."

"Prophesy?" Hermione asked.

Harry remembered too late that he hadn't as such told his friends about the prophecy. Luckily, he was saved from having to explain when Ron entered the compartment, with a small girl trailing behind him.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed upon seeing them. "You haven't met my sister yet, have you?"

"Sister?" Harry asked. "You have a sister and you just forgot to mention her in five years?"

"It's no more irrational than you transporting yourself from Dudley's bedroom to the Hogwart's Express while being unconscious," Hermione said, huffily.

"Or me randomly turning up later than Hermione with her little sister in tow," Ron added.

Harry ceded the point. This, it seemed, was not a logical fic. He might as well just accept it.

"So what's her name?" Harry asked.

An evil glint came into Hermione's eyes as she raised her outstretched little finger to her mouth and said, "I shall call her…Mini-He!"

There was no reaction from either Harry or Ron.

"Don't you get it?" Hermione asked in exasperation. "Like Mini-me, but Mini-He, because of the first two letters of my name!"

Neither Harry's nor Ron's expression changed.

Hermione looked ready to scream. Instead, she contented herself with saying "Boys!" derisively and storming off, dragging Mini-He behind her.

"You know," Harry reflected after a while, "even if the Dursley's had let me watch that movie, it still wouldn't be funny."

Beside him, Ron laughed triumphantly. "Ha ha! I won the pretending to be botoxed competition!"

Harry looked at him strangely. "There was no pretending to be botoxed competition."

"Oh," Ron said, disappointed. "Can we have one now then?"

"Ok," Harry said.

So they did.

They just sat there.

Pretending all their face muscles were paralysed.

For hours.

Maybe even days.

It seemed like years.

Luckily, Draco Malfoy entered the compartment just as everyone was dying of boredom.

"So, Potter," he drawled. "Still hanging out with the Weasel, I see."

Harry didn't say anything. He couldn't – he was in the middle of a pretending to be botoxed competition.

"Too famous to answer me, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, venomously.

Harry contemplated how best to convey that he was pretending to be botoxed, while pretending to be botoxed. Eventually, he stood up and drew out his wand, intending to do that spiffy writing in the air thing that Voldemort had done in his second year. He turned his back to Malfoy, so he wouldn't have to write backwards, which was a real pain.

"Do you want to duel, Potter?" Malfoy scoffed. I mean, drawled. That was a close one. Nearly had Draco Malfoy speaking in a different way than drawling. That would have been a heinous crime, indeed.

Harry ignored him, being too intent upon the task of figuring out exactly how one managed to write in the air. Malfoy took his silence for a yes.

"Well, Potter, there's one thing you've forgotten…" Malfoy drawled, thinking for some reason that a crap macho cliché would help him in this situation. "There's no teachers around to make sure we fight fair." And with that –

"Insert vaguely Latin sounding word here!" Malfoy yelled. Well, yell-drawled.

The curse hit Harry in the small of his back, making him fall to the carpeted floor of the compartment.

(It may be useful here to tell you something else JK forgot to mention: Harry has an irrational fear of carpets. Not the 'that looks as if it could give me a nasty carpet burn' dislike of carpets, or even the 'but I wanted luxury soft-pile carpet in my bedroom' irritation, but a terrifying irrational fear. Of carpets.

Don't ask me why. People are scared of the strangest things. Many people have a completely irrational fear of, say, hanging by their fingertips over a large precipice. For Harry, it's carpets. That's just the way things are. This being so…)

Harry screamed at the sight of the upcoming carpet.

And then the fabric of time and space shifted and Harry found himself several hundred years into the past. The present was just a distant memory of Ron's jubilant voice as he yelled –

"Ha ha! You screamed! I win the pretending to be botoxed

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Yes – we're back and there's nothing you can do to stop us!

Yeah, and this one is promising to be just as strange, but we're about to take our GCSE's, so really you should pity us…

There is another chance for a cameo appearance in this fic (I can tell you're all highly excited by that joyous, joyous news)! All you have to do is tell us what you think the chapter title means…NO CHEATING AND LOOKING IN THE DICTIONARY…just because that's what we did... The closest one to it gets their very own cameo! Ah, the suspense of it all.

So review (!) and tell us what you think

P.S. Went to see Team America yesterday and it is fully the most amazing thing in the world ever.

P.P.S. I like to think that my inane manner of speaking is completely ironic, but fear this is not so.

P.P.P.S. You're still reading this? Oh well, may as well use the opportunity to plug…REVIEW!


	2. Ecdemic

Disclaimer: I think it is clear from the fact that this is a fanfic that we do not own it…unless JK Rowling gets her kicks from publishing works without profit…hmmm…must deliberate on this theory.

**Ecdemic:**

Harry arrived in insert name of non-specified/fictional country here in the year insert fairly random date – suffice to say when there were damsels and jousting (the old favourite of fantasy books) here with a bump.

There is no logical reason why it was with a bump – wizards and witches, surely, over the years, would have developed ways of making travelling more comfortable. However, there is something undeniably humorous about Harry landing on his bum and hurting his tailbone…or maybe I'm just sadistic. Either way, the word "bum" is sure to induce laughter in the less mature of us (i.e. me).

Harry was just getting up when something appeared suddenly in front of him, causing him to loose his balance, landing on his ass again. You can tell that we prize sophisticated humour in this fic, and never resort to cheap slapstick, which works even less in prose than in film.

"Buh?" Harry said, articulately, for the something that had suddenly arrived was none other than a screaming Draco Malfoy.

At the noise Harry made, Draco turned towards the source, saw Harry and screamed again.

Recognising an intellectual conversation he could at last participate in, Harry screamed back at him, pleasantly.

"Boys!" a voice boomed over the screaming. "What's the matter?"

Draco turned to see who spoke now, only to find Dumbledore towering over him. "Sir!" he gibbered. "Harry…" he paused. For most people, the mere sight of Harry Potter would be enough to make them scream in terror, but Draco Malfoy is made of tougher stuff, and felt the need to make this known. "Harry," he could almost speak without stuttering now, "performed a difficult spell!"

There was a long, shocked silence.

Eventually, Dumbledore turned to Harry, intrigued. "Is this true, Harry?" he asked, gently. "Did you really perform a difficult spell?"

Harry, however, had lost interest in the conversation as soon as the words became longer than a syllable. Instead, he had made a daisy chain for himself, and was deciding if it would work better as a necklace or as a tiara.

"Harry?" Dumbledore probed. "Can you tell me what happened just before you arrived here?"

Harry dropped his daisy chain and his face paled. Dumbledore could only decipher on work in his stuttered ravings – "Carpets!"

"Ah," Dumbledore said gravely. He, of course, knew of the carpet phobia. We tried to find a posh word for this, but could not – apparently, while aulophobics (those terrified of flutes) are tragically common, a fear of carpets is simply too silly.

But, then again, he is Harry Potter.

The reason Dumbledore was aware of Harry's peculiar (and possibly unique) phobia was that it had been mentioned in…the prophesy (for full effect, sub-vocalise in dramatic and foreboding tones). Not the condensed prophesy that JK wrote out for us, but the proper, extended version – a short extract of which is:

_There is lots of stuff about Harry,_

_The details of which are in prose,_

_Because we have difficulty rhyming…y,_

_As shown by the line ab…ose_

Section C, line 7 of said prophesy specifies an irrational fear of carpets (it's the bit right after when it states that he must have a complex love life). Dumbledore, therefore, concluded that Harry had not performed difficult magic at all, but simply…

And then Dumbledore came to a crisis. Should he have compassion for Harry's already addled brain and for all the confused/sceptical readers and actually reveal what was going on? Or should he simply say nothing until the end of the book – the traditional time for him to reveal all and leave Harry wondering why the hell he couldn't have said that in the first place.

Dumbledore decided (on the excellent reasoning that these authors would probably be unable to sustain interest until his moment of truth) to commit heresy – he would be straight with Harry and the readers.

"The reason you and Mr. Malfoy here have been transported back in time is that you screamed in terror." He turned to Draco – "There is no need to fear – Harry performed no difficult magic. It is simply a spell I set up to transport anyone screaming in terror back to insert previously mentioned date and location as then they would safely be here with me."

"So why are you here?" Malfoy asked.

"I have some…errands to do," Dumbledore said, vaguely. You didn't expect him to be completely truthful, did you?

"Anyway," Dumbledore said, shifting uncomfortably. "Must be off – things to do, people to see…" He took a piece of parchment and a quill out of his pocket. Also, a handy bottle of ink – how convenient wizard stationary is!

"Now, Harry," he said, scribbling furiously, "I'm leaving you in charge. Follow these instructions exactly and you'll be home in no time."

"Can't we just go with you?" Draco asked. Dumbledore appeared shocked by the question –

"But then you won't have time to bond in various clichéd and unlikely scenes." He looked grave – "I'm sorry, Draco, but the author profile specifies teenage and female; this is just the way it has to be."

He handed the parchment to Harry, who looked bemused upon receiving it. "Ta ta!" he said, cheerfully.

And he vanished, completely ignoring Draco's cry of – "Don't leave me alone with him – I'm scared what the author might make us do!"

Draco had spent several minutes staring morosely at the place Dumbledore had just been standing, when Harry noticed Dumbledore was gone.

"Well," he said, punching Draco cheerfully in the arm – "looks like it's just you and me."

"Don't touch me," Draco said, tersely.

Harry shrugged and went back to his daisy chain.

Thus, our heroic duo began on their long and arduous journey to the present.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

And the winner of the competition is insert drum roll here… BOBETE THE BUILDER!

Yeah, you were wrong, but we like the idea of it meaning to ramble. Absquatulate actually means 'to leave in a hurry, suddenly, and/or in secret'. Still, congrats and all that. In order to have your cameo, we'll need a brief description of appearance – nothing detailed or anything, but just to give us an idea.

To everyone else, same competition this week (except obviously, with new chapter title) and, so we can get on with the cameos, can you include your brief description in review (if you feel uncomfortable doing that, my e-mail is …or we could just make something up). And yes, we do plan to do this throughout the entire fic.

Have I forgotten anything…don't think so…except to stress about both biology and German now boasting weekly tests, with the occasional pop quiz in French thrown in. I love GCSE year.

Tootles till next time (tee hee hee! I said tootles! Oh, the hilarity of it all)


	3. Antanagage

Disclaimer: Sigh. You found me out. I am actually JK, secretly publishing the opening chapters of my upcoming book to see what people say when they don't know it's me. Very interesting you know. Hmmm… I don't think you were fooled. Damn. (And I was trying so hard…)

**Antanagage**

Lord Voldemort sat deep in his Evil Lair (a council housing estate in London – it was disgraceful having to live in such close proximity to all these Muggles, but his forces had learnt, by way of secret recordings of EastEnders that people in these parts were unlikely to ever report anything to the authorities.)

He carefully studied the room he was in to check he'd left no stray cronies out writhing in agony (he could never be bothered to put them away again), before letting out a huge sigh.

Now, sighing isn't a very Dark-Lord thing to do, hence the need for secrecy. This may be a desperate situation, but he had a reputation to protect.

Yesterday, at exactly 1:57pm, a very powerful spell had been triggered on the Hogwarts Express. Harry Potter had disappeared. Or so his spells tracing Potter told him. (They were specially attuned to his unique mix of naivety, stupidity, and attachment to chocolate frogs.)

Lucious Malfoy had suggested that Dumbledore could have spelled him so that his mental age would finally match his physical one.

Voldemort had been forced to torture him for having such a good idea before he, Voldemort, was able to.

He quickly realised, though, (Malfoy's screams of agony helped him to think) that such an idea was ridiculous! Potter was far more tractable in his 12 year old mind frame. He never went out until late at night, sleeping around and drinking.

It really was most unfortunate.

In the many years after that fateful night at Godric's Hollow, Voldemort had come up with a plan that was superior even to his kill-Potter-while-he's-still-a-baby-and-totally-incapable-of-defending-himself plan.

He would leave a trail of alco-pops to an Evil Clearing ™ in the Dark Forest. Potter would follow it, drinking up all the free booze, and so would arrive totally slashed and ready to die.

It was completely infallible!

Apart from the fact that Potter never drank anything stronger than Butterbeer.

The only path left to him was to try that other obsession of teenagers – the Internet.

Snape had assured him that although no electrical equipment worked at Hogwarts, the internet was still a common passion among students, and Potter in particular. It was, therefore, a splendid use of his time and resources to look for a way to annihilate Potter via the Internet.

His first step had been to set up the following website: harrypottermustdie. (A/N: I checked. This website doesn't actually exist. A shame.) He'd had a lot of messages along the lines of, "You're crazy. Or evil. Or possibly both." Those were not that discouraging, as he had years of experience with dealing with that.

What was really exciting, though, was the messages he'd got saying, "Yes! Thank God the whole world hasn't gone mad!"

Very encouraging.

Obviously, the Internet was the way forward.

Lord Voldemort cackled evilly to himself. (Or so he thought. Though everyone else thought his laugh was more like a girlish giggle.)

He had found it!

The way to subtly influence thousands, hundreds of thousands – perhaps even millions – of young minds so they would support his cause.

Fanfiction!

Just think. All he need do was write a story about Voldemort the Valiant and Potter the Plonker (not difficult, as this would be a description of their every encounter) and it would be out there, being read. Being taken into the subconscious of all the impressionable people (such as Bobette the Builder. Yes - she sounded particularly gullible…) who visited this site. And there it would sit, slowly brainwashing the reader until they joined the Dark Side.

This was the world domination of the future. He didn't even have to go out and personally intimidate people. Just type something in from the comfort of his own council home and it would travel all over the world. Thousands of supporters, just like that.

Oh yes. The world was practically his!

All he needed now was a pen name. Something that sounded reliable and trustworthy. Even unbiased, so his stories would be taken seriously. How about… I'm not the Dark Lord, honest.

…Perfect…

Of course that cameo wasn't hastily added in at the last minute… looks around guiltily

Ok. I, Spinach, think that the prize for the last chapter title – Ecdemic – would go to Eggo Waffles if she hadn't put the 'I think?' bit in. She sounded so confident apart from that.

As to the actual meaning of the word, we got 'originating elsewhere than where it is found.' So it probably means a disease that enters the body from an external source as well.

Still, NO PINEAPPLE FOR YOU, EGGO WAFFLES! (As in give the girl a pineapple, except we maliciously refuse to give you one! Eh heh heh…)


	4. Bellibone

Disclaimer: We still aren't JK Rowling. Honestly, we've said it enough times; you'd think you people would have got it by now.

**Bellibone:**

Back in Hogwarts (I love the quality of transitions in this fic), Neville Longbottom called plaintively for his toad – "Trevor! Trevor! Where are you?" He had been looking for Trevor for the last three days and was, as yet, unsuccessful. Perhaps this was because loosing Trevor makes Neville seem naïvely endearing, while retaining a slight comic element and the present author wants to exploit that fact to its full potential. Or perhaps it is because Neville is so nondescript that it takes his fellow pupils over 72 hours to notice what he was doing. Or maybe a pleasant mixture of the two. You decide.

Hermione, who is, after all, the most astute of all Hogwarts students, noticed Neville's strange behaviour first. "Neville, what's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

"Trevor…missing…been…looking," Neville managed, a slightly deranged look in his eyes that suggested that his mind was teetering on the edge of sanity. Well, that's what happens to a guy if they spend the last 72 hours continuously searching for a toad, with no breaks for sleep, food or water. It's amazing he's still alive, really.

"Trevor?" Hermione said, compassionately. "Haven't you heard, Neville? He was signed up for the Chudleigh Cannons as their new seeker."

Neville looked baffled, as, I'm sure, most of you people do.

"Well, ever since Harry's miraculous performance in our first year, they've been trying to get a wide-mouthed tree frog on the team. But then they heard about Trevor and they thought 'how surreal and complex (and, frankly, written after midnight) would it be if we kidnapped Trevor and then made him play' so they did."

"The Chudleigh Cannons kidnapped Trevor?" Neville asked, his voice querulous. His fragile state of mind had just been pushed a little further and was now hanging by it's fingertips over the edge.

"Oh yes," Hermione said. "And he's doing great! Yesterday, the Cannon's won a match for the first time in forty years – Ron's delighted."

This was too much for Neville – the Cannons actually winning something? His mind gave up, let go of the edge completely and started falling into the depths of insanity. He screamed, and then disappeared.

(Remember Dumbledore's spell? Incidentally, as soon as Neville reaches insert name of unspecified location here, his sanity and general health is completely restored. You may ask why, but we're not going to tell you, and I don't mean that in a we're-going-to-drag-it-out-for-suspense kind of way. I mean it in a for-similar-reasons-as-to-why-we-aren't-telling-you-why-Dumbledore's-spell-is-still-activated kind of way. Namely, we don't know.)

Minutes later, the most beautiful girl the reader can imagine glided into the picture. Her name was Katriana Elyssabeth Blah Blah Blah, and she had transformed the lives of everyone in the school simply by being so good, so pure (and so damn sexy). Former Death Eaters now spent their time stroking rabbits, chinchillas and other small, furry creatures not generally associated with Death Eaters.

That is, she had transformed the lives of everyone but our main characters because we find them quite parody-able as they are, thank you very much. There are perfectly reasonable explanations for this though.

Neville had been searching for his toad for the last three days, thus unable to talk to her as he was too busy calling Trevor's name.

Hermione had spent all her time in the library trying to discover the reasons for Harry's and Draco's (and now Neville's) disappearance.

Ron had been too drunk to talk to her as a result of all the celebrating he had done following the Cannon's change in fortune.

Ginny had been busy trying to figure out her personality; as she doesn't actually talk until about book 4 or 5, the authors don't really know how to write her, never mind parody her.

Anyway, the point is that she enters the scene. Randomly, Ron and Ginny appeared as well.

"Hermione," Katriana Elyssabeth Etc. said, her voice melodious. "I don't believe we've really talked. I feel that you have various unresolved psychological issues you are harbouring, which only come out through your discussion with me, showing my sensitive and caring side."

"Do I?" Hermione asked, confused.

"And then," Katriana continued, "I would help you get over said issues by introducing you to material goods, such as clothes and make-up, which would make you almost (but not quite) as beautiful as me, to show how cool and trendy I am."

"Ok…" Hermione said, backing away slowly, "I'm just going to phone the police now."

"And then I'll introduce you to some values my Suethor thinks of as American and, all of a sudden, you'll never have problems again, because you'll embody the American spirit," Katriana was now smiling in a strangely terrifying (but beautiful) way.

"Oh no," Hermione muttered, fear showing in her voice.

"What?" Ginny asked, confused.

"I've read about this, but I didn't really believe…" Hermione said, her voice tense.

"Didn't believe what?" Ginny demanded. Hermione turned towards her, a worried expression on her face.

"Ginny – she's a Mary Sue!" Hermione whispered. Both girls screamed. And then disappeared.

Ron looked at where they had been standing a few seconds previously. This was quite difficult as he was surrounded by Cannons' memorabilia. However, after batting aside some balloons, a banner, and three inflatable life-size figurines, he could see plainly that they were gone.

"Hermione! Where are you? Come back – I can't go on without you!" Then, blushing extensively and giving an embarrassed cough, he said, rather quickly, "I mean Ginny, because she is obviously the one I care about… Not that I don't care about Hermione…just as a sister. Yeah, that's it – a sister." And then, he too screamed and disappeared.

Katriana I Can't Even Remember What The Rest Of Her Name Is surveyed the now empty corridor, one eyebrow arched quizzically. Then she shrugged (gracefully), turned on her heel (elegantly) and started to walk (I mean, glide) back to the Great Hall. She laughed, a pretty laugh like tinkling bells, and said (in a voice that would have brought joy to even the terminally depressed) –

"Even without them, the school can still be mine!" And she laughed her pretty laugh again, drawing the rest of the students to her like moths to a flame.

Like I say, this was written after midnight coz I couldn't sleep, so that's why it's a bit…yeah…

Sorry about the long update time but…actually there is absolutely no excuse; I just couldn't be bothered to write this chapter. In my defence, the plan for it was 'Trevor gets kidnapped and Neville, Ron, Ginny and Hermione scream' so I didn't have much to go on.

Btw – I (this is Bernard; Spinach fully disassociates from this venture as she feels it would totally destroy her image) am writing a "serious fic" (oh the horror). Uh, I think it includes just about everything we've parodied, but please read, review and don't be too harsh because I'm a closet hopeless romantic and would hate for my fragile self-confidence to be crushed.

Antanagage: a counter charge made in retort to an adversary's accusation.

Although we rather liked the idea of a gun that shoots out unsuspecting ants of DOOM on unsuspecting victims (Bobbete the Builder), Eggo Waffles was nearer the actual definition and we feel that we should boost her self-confidence, so here's a cameo just for you:

Katriana returned to her room, only just managing to make it in through the door as the room was filled with dozens of roses given to her by her hoards of admirers. She inhaled their sweet perfume, when suddenly she spotted something that was completely out of place.

A pineapple.

Suspiciously, she crept over to it, turned over the card and read:

_Katriana – you are an inspiration to us all. I hope you like the pineapple; I went to great lengths to get it, having to wait until the nasty authors weren't looking before I could dash into the fruit and veg shop and buy it, just for you._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Eggo Waffles_

Katriana slowly let out the breath she had unconsciously been holding. It was fine – just another fan, if a slightly strange one. She smiled – no-one suspected anything, except Hermione and Ginny, who had disappeared to an undisclosed location. Yes, life was sweet. And controlling other peoples' lives was even sweeter.


End file.
